


Wish I Didn't Love You

by Marvelite5Ever



Series: That X-Force AU where the mercenaries like attention, the telepathekenetics have varying degrees of guilt complexes, and the genetically enhanced, nanoactive supersoldiers are almost constantly confused [2]
Category: Cable and Deadpool, Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), X-Force (Comics)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Nate feels guilty, Nate is an idiot, Nate is angry, Nate is happy, Nate talks sense, Nate wants to fix things, Nate's also in love with Wade, Wade curses a lot, Wade is Alive, Wade is an idiot, Wade is so totally in love with Nate it's not even funny, because they're idiots, becuase of course he is, but he wishes he could, but they do start to fix things between them, but they don't even realize those feelings are reciprocated, he doesn't frikkin stay dead, oh and Domino is a genius, the voice in Wade's head is devious, who doesn't give a fuck about any possible zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-28 21:49:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5106929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvelite5Ever/pseuds/Marvelite5Ever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Sequel to <i>Attention Whore.</i>)</p>
<p>Wade is alive, but he doesn't want to be.</p>
<p>Nathan wants to find Wade before the mercenary does anything stupid. </p>
<p>Nathan ends up being a little late to stop Wade from doing something stupid, but if he can convince Wade not to try to permanently kill himself again, he'll count it as a win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wish I Didn't (Love You)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to _Attention Whore,_ because the lovely people who reviewed that story wanted to see more. Frankly, I was astounded by the amount of response that story received - thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos on that story, and I hope you all enjoy the sequel! :)
> 
> As a reminder:
> 
> Again, we're ignoring everything in Marvel canon after Cable & Deadpool #50, and this story takes place in a universe where the mutant situation wasn't so desperate (we're basically ignoring the whole “No more mutants” debacle), and there doesn't end up being the whole thing with Hope and Avengers vs. X-Men and the Phoenix Force and alllll that.  
> We're also probably ignoring like a ton of stuff.  
> Yep. We're ignoring it all. Hi-chaa!  
> The continuity is just really messed up. Don't think about it too hard, kay?

* * *

_**~Two weeks after Wade's dead body was buried, Canada, graveyard~** _

* * *

Cold, bony fingers slipped through his own, and Wade woke up to complete and utter darkness. 

Automatically, Wade reached up to check if he had eyes. He did have eyes—he knew because he poked said eyes too hard and saw dark colors swirl. 

When his eyes stopped smarting, the complete and utter blackness returned. But it wasn't just the darkness that was smothering him—there seemed to be a lack of air. 

Exploring his surroundings showed him that he was in a box that was long enough for him to lie down, hardly wide enough for him to stick out his elbows at all, and hardly tall enough for him to roll onto his side. 

He also felt like he was wearing a nice suit (as in a suit and tie, _not_ his Deadpool suit). And the dank air smelled like dirt. 

Which all could basically only add up to one thing: 

“Why the fucking hell am I in a coffin?!” 

A pause, before he answered himself: 

“Okay, obviously I'm in a coffin because I died. A better question: _why the fucking hell am I alive?!”_

Ripping off the satin gloves he was apparently wearing—“Satin gloves?! What da _fuck?!”_ —Wade touched his face, finding that, yes, his skin was back to its previous rough, scarred, painful texture. 

“So _that's_ why the suit is so itchy. Okay, so this also answers my second question—I'm alive because my cancer and healing factor kicked back. While I was dead. After I'd been cured of said cancer and healing factor. Da fuck, _really?!”_

Another pause. 

“Well, I guess both the cancer and the healing factor are ingrained in my DNA... _fuck._ And yes, I just really feel like saying _fuck_ right now. Fuckity fucking _fuck!_ This fucking damn well fucking _sucks!”_

Another pause. 

“You know, there are a couple sad things here. The first sad thing is that I'm buried in a coffin six feet underground who-knows-where and talking to myself because I'm alive and there's nobody to talk to because I'm buried in a coffin six feet underground who-knows-where and therefore there's nobody else to talk to and I'm talking to myself. 

“No, actually, that's the second sad thing—the _first_ sad thing is that I got cured, and then I died like three minutes later, so I only had like three minutes of being cured, handsome, and cancer-free. And I never got to see my reflection. 

“Okay, _that's_ actually the first sad thing. I never got to see my reflection when I was handsome. And I never got to enjoy being handsome. And now I'm ugly again. _Fuck._

“Oh, and I'm also alive again. Buried in a coffin six feet underground. And the entire world hates me now cuz I wreaked chaos on like all seven continents plus a few islands, and then I targeted New York City like any typical, megalomaniacal baddie. 

“Okay, another thing: _why the fucking hell didn't they cremate me?!_ You'd think they'd want to make sure I was, like, _dead_ -dead, for completely _sure_ -sure not-coming-back _dead._ Why the fuck _bury_ me?! And why the nice suit and satin gloves?! Oh gawd, I'm wearing a tie, aren't I?”

A pause as he felt around his neck. 

“I _am_ wearing a tie! Fuckity _fuck!_ I hope it at least has a _cool design_ on it. Like, red and black paisley, or something. Whaaaaat? Paisley is cool, and red and black are the best! 

“Fuck, I'm talking to myself. _Fuck._ Who the hell fucking had be _buried?!”_

A pause. 

_“Fuck._ It was fucking Nathan Fucking Priscilla Fucking _Summers,_ wasn't it?” 

A pause. 

“Only Nate. Only Nate.” 

Another pause. 

“Okay, how long do you think I have to wait here till die from lack of oxygen, lack of water, or lack of food? Or, like, boredom. How long can I lie here in this dank, dark coffin before I die of boredom? 

“Probably oxygen, first. I'm using up a lot of it because I can't get myself to stop talking. I mean, I've always talked a lot—like, all the time—and it's not like there's anything else to do when you're buried in a coffin six feet undeground in who-the-fuck-knows-where. What fake name do you think Nate put on my tombstone? 

“Okay, but if oxygen doesn't work, then boredom next, definitely. Then water, then food. 

“But if I die of lack of oxygen, will I still come back to life? Oh gawd, what if there really is nothing that can kill me where I actually fucking _stay_ dead?

“Maybe I can just go to sleep. Do you think I'll be able to see Death if I go to sleep? 

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. 

“Well, I'm definitely not in a comic book. Fuck. See that! Fuck fuck fuck. Absolutely no stupid @#$%^*& censoring #$%^&. @#$&^! 

“Oh, come on! Don't do that to me _now!_ Swearing is currently my only joy in life. Don't take that from me! @#$$%^  &%$! 

“...Fuck. 

“Oh, hey! Fuck it, it worked! Shit damn fucker damn fucker damn damn! Some motherfucker just stole my man! I'll get another fucker _better_ than the other fucker! Shit damn fucker damn fucker damn damn!

“Tongue twiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisssssstaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhssssssss! 

“Damn. I'm not gonna find a fucker better than Nate, am I? Fucking Nate—burying me in a fucking _coffin._ Why didn't he just fucking _cremate_ me?!” 

Finally, another pause. Not that he really needed the breath. He'd probably already used up all the oxygen and just hadn't noticed. 

“...It's because he _cares,_ doesn't he? _Fuck._ It really sucks to be cared for by Nate sometimes, doesn't it? 

“You know, you're a really, really fucking awful conversationalist. Making me keep up this entire conversation all by myself.

“Okay, we're taking bets on what happens first: do I fray my vocal chords with talking, or do I develop a second, split personality for me to talk to? Oooooor, do I drive myself so crazy I break out of this eggplant prison and climb out of the dirt like a zombie? Place your bets at 1-800-P00L-0F-BETS! A Betpool, maybe? Ehhh, doesn't have that great of a ring to it…

“Okay, what the fucking _hell_ do I do now?”

* * *

**_~One week later, Canada, graveyard~_ **

* * *

“How long do you think I've been awake down here? I mean, it's so fucking dark and I can't keep track of time—it could have minutes, hours, days, _years_ —I have no fucking clue.” 

[Well, it was long enough for you to develop a second, split personality for you to talk to. And how long that took depends on how crazy you are.] 

“Okay, so I've probably been down here for a few years then.” 

[I was going to go with a few hours, actually. You're pretty crazy.] 

“Why, thank you, voice of the split personality inside my head. Since you're so smart, do you know if I've slept at all? Because I can't tell that, either. Maybe I'm dreaming right now, for all I know! Maybe this is all a dream! Maybe this is what being dead is like!” 

[You know this isn't what being dead is like.] 

“Not faaaaaaiiiiiiiirrrrrrr. Why do you have access to my part of my brain, but I don't have access to your part?” 

[I'm not in your brain. I'm in your spleen.] 

_“Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?!”_

[It's true. It's why I'm so angry that you haven't gotten us out of this stupid coffin yet.] 

“Well, it _would_ explain why _I_ am in control of my body, and you're not. Spleens do not have motor control.” 

[Your dick does, though.] 

“Fair enough. My dick has a mind of its own. At least it doesn't talk, though...”

[Don't jinx it. I like being your only head-voice. There's so much rooooooooom in here, and I have it all to myself!] 

“Are you saying that I have an empty head?!” 

[…Essentially, I guess. That works.]

“Sounds like you're more comfortable than me, then. There is _no fucking room_ in this coffin. I mean, I can't even _jack myself off_ in here.” 

[Yeah, your dick keeps raising its head whenever you start thinking about Nate and how rugged he looks when—]

_“Shuddup._ And I can't check either of my boots to see if Nate remember to stick my favorite knife in there.” 

[You wouldn't need a knife to get out. You get totally punch your way out. With your fists.] 

“And _why_ would I want to get out?” 

[Because being stuck in a coffin is really boring?] 

“But if I stay here I can kinda deny that I'm alive. I still think I could still be dead, and this is just, like, my eternal punishment, or something.” 

[And that's a good thing, _how?_ ]

“Because it would mean I'm not alive. I don't want to be alive.” 

[Why not?] 

“What are you now, my personal _therapist?”_  
[No, I'm _you,_ and I'm getting sick and tired of your shit. So tell me: _why don't you want to be alive?_ ]

“...” 

[I'm waiting.] 

“...” 

[Still waiting.] 

“Shuddup.” 

[Nope, not happening. Not until you answer the question.] 

“La la la la la la la, I can't hear youuuu! La la la la la!” 

[Just answer the fucking question!] 

“Deeeeennnniiiiiiaaaaaaallllllll!” 

[Don't make me adopt Nate's voice. I'm in your head—I can do that, you know.] 

“...You can't.” 

[I can.]

“No, you can't!” 

{Wade, stop this.}

_“...Fuck._ That _did_ sound like Nate! _Fuck...!”_

{Why don't you want to be alive, Wade?}

“...Because... because there's _nothing to live for.”_

{And _I'm_ not worth living for?}

“STOP USING NATE'S VOICE, DAMMIT!” 

{Do you love me, Wade?}

“Fuck... this is, like, _psychological abuse,_ from my own fucking _mind!_ I am psychologically abusing myself! I'd curl into an insecure ball if I wasn't lying down in a coffin that prevents me from doing so!” 

{You know how you can fix that, Wade? You can break out of this coffin. I know you can do it, Wade.}

“Oh gawdddd. _Stop saying my name in his voice!_ Not fair...” 

{Wade.} 

“I hate you, brain. I really, really, _really_ hate you.” 

[Of course you hate me. I'm you. You hate yourself. But do you hate _Nate?_ ] 

“...” 

{Don't you want to see me again, Wade?} 

Wade whimpered and put his hands over his eyes, even though it didn't do anything. 

“Shuddup shuddup _shut up!”_

* * *

**_~Three days later, Canada, graveyard~_ **

* * *

It was the middle of the night, the darkness lit only by a sliver of moon, and an owl was sitting high up in a tree, large, sharp eyes scouring the ground for movement.

Spotting what it thought was a rodent scurrying across the ground out of the corner of its eye, it turned its head smoothly, staring at the patch of dirt. 

No rodent. 

But the ground kept moving, and the owl watched. Curious, maybe? Agitated? 

Suddenly something burst out of the ground, and there was a low moan and the stench of death. 

Luckily for the owl, owls don't have much of a sense of smell, so it didn't notice. 

But owls' sense of sight is especially keen, and so the owl could perfectly make out the human hand that had burst out of the dirt and started scrabbling for a handhold, clenching a fist in the ground and straining. 

Another hand shot out of the dirt, and then rose a head covered in grotesque skin. 

Any human watching would have either frozen still, or started running and screaming, believing it was a zombie. 

Owls don't have any concepts of zombies. Or any ability to know that a human's skin should not be so uneven. Or any ability to smell that the human wasn't actually quite human. 

Owl's rely on sight, and the owl saw a human pull itself out of the ground and start spitting dirt out of its mouth. (Owls also have no sense of human genders.) 

The human clawing itself out of the dirt (the owl didn't know enough to find anything particularly strange about that, either—it wasn't like the human creature was any threat to the owl) had scared several dozen rodents nearby, and the owl's attention was immediately diverted elsewhere. 

With a completely silent swoop of wings, the owl lifted of its branch and dove down, snatching up a rodent in its claws and then returning up to its perch to eat the rodent, paying only vague, uncaring attention to the human below. 

Said human was covering its eyes and muttering something that a human would have recognize as an angry mantra of “I hate you,” over and over with an occasional “I really fucking hate you” thrown in. 

The owl did not understand human language, though, so the human's mutterings were complete gibberish to the owl. And if the owl had any ability to sense the emotions rolling off the human, it didn't give a fuck. 

Presently, the human stumbled off, and the owl finished its meal and began scanning the area for another one. 

The next morning, vultures, which _did_ have a good sense of smell, were circling over the graveyard. 

The scent of death was strong, but they never found anything. 

Eventually, they moved on.

* * *

**_~Two days later, Canada, graveyard~_ **

* * *

Nathan stared down at the exhumed grave, the undertaker shifting uneasily beside him. 

“I swear, this ain't never happened before,” the undertaker said, perplexed and agitated. “There ain't never been a grave dug up here before.” 

Nathan could see that the grave hadn't been dug up—it had been dug _out of._

His heart was hammering, but his voice was steady as he turned to the undertaker and said, “Don't tell anybody about this. Smooth over the dirt, and I'll take care of it.” 

The undertaker grunted and nodded, and Nathan left, trying not to smile. 

_Wade was alive._

It was very hard not to smile about that.

* * *

**_~That same day, some town in Washington State~_ **

* * *

In sweatpants, sneakers, and a hoodie that he'd stolen from a closed store in Canada, Wade walked down the street, shoulders hunched and hood pulled up, looking for a good car to hotwire. 

[We're hungry.] 

“No, we're not,” Wade grumbled at himself. 

[Yes, we are. According to the date on the newspapers, we died over three weeks ago. We haven't eaten anything in that long.] 

“We don't need to eat,” Wade reminded himself.

[This is your stomach telling you that you need to eat.] 

“It's not like starvation can kill us,” Wade muttered lowly. People were giving him a fairly wide berth and shooting nervous glances at him. “And we're not going to live that long, anyway. Hopefully. Stop making me talk to myself, I look crazy.”

[You _are_ crazy.] 

“They don't need to know that. People already look at me funny when they see my skin, I don't need them looking at me funny when I talk, too.” 

[What, you didn't talk to yourself before I showed up?]

“...Actually, I kinda did.” 

[My point exactly. And wait—what did you mean by “we're not going to live that long, hopefully”?!]

“Um...” 

Walking into a parking lot at the edge of town that had a fair amount of cars but no people, Wade chose an expensive-ish-looking sport car, switched out the license plates, forced the door open with his favorite knife (Nate _had_ put the knife in his boot—Wade had tried not to feel warm and fuzzy about that, and had mostly failed) and started hotwiring the car. 

[Don't avoid.] 

Wade made quick work and hopped into the car, starting to drive away, cranking up the radio. 

“Avoiding? Me? I'm not avoiding anything. There's nothing to avoid.” He started singing along with the radio. “She took my arm, I don't know how it happened, we hit the floor and she said ehhhhhh, now don't you dare look back, just keep your eyes on me, I said you're holding back, she said—”

[Shut up and answer me!]

Wade frowned. “No, I think it's 'shut up and _dance with_ me.” 

[Don't play stupid with me. I'm your brain. You can't play stupid with your own brain.] 

“Uh, yes, I can. I've been doing it for maaaaaaany years now. And since when the fuck has my brain been a nagging mother?!” 

[I am your conscience.] 

“Are you? Oh, good—you can stay out of this, then.” 

The road sped by in a blur of gray tarmac and green trees. Washington sure could be pretty, Wade thought.

“Washington sure can be pretty,” Wade said. 

[It's not going to work, you know.] 

“What's not going to work?” Wade asked innocently. 

[Whatever you're planning to get yourself killed—it's not going to work. You'll survive it. It's pointless.] 

“Who said I was going to kill myself?” Wade asked, too innocently. 

[Why can't you just suck up your pride and go apologize to Nate?!] 

“I really hate my conscience,” Wade told the windshield. “It's very stupid.” 

A conversation which promptly devolved into a childish argument of “No I'm not, _you_ are!”s and ended with a score of  
Wade: -3  
Wade's Head-Voice/Conscience: -2  
The Windshield: +4  
Traffic Cops: -10,000  
Sports Car: +10,000

* * *

**_~Two days later, X-Force base, undisclosed location somewhere in New York State~_ **

* * *

Nathan's jaw was tense, teeth clamped together as he stared at the wall, arms folded tightly behind his back. 

“Still no luck?” Domino asked, sidling up to him to also stare at the extremely interesting, blank, gray concrete wall, before tilting her head to look up at him with the brow over her spotted eye raised. 

“He hasn't been to any of his safehouses,” Nate said lowly. “Not even for a moment.” 

“You know that if Wade doesn't want to be found, you're not going to find him,” Domino pointed out. 

A muscle in Nathan's jaw ticked. 

“Why do you _want_ to find him, anyway?” Domino asked, a note of frustration in her voice. “He kind of _tried to destroy the world,_ if you remember.” ]

Nathan turned to look at her, blue eye meeting hers, blank eye flashing. “You know that wasn't his actual goal.” 

“He's also kind of insane,” Domino pointed out. 

“All the more reason to find him,” Nathan said.

Domino stared at him. “You said he wanted to die, right?” 

She took Nathan's silence as a Yes. 

“Then he's probably not too happy about being alive,” she ventured, slowly. “He's probably trying to die again.” 

Nathan blinked at her, realization dawning on his face. He turned away and cursed under his breath, fists clenched by his sides. “If you had a healing factor and were trying to kill yourself for good, what would you do?”

Domino thought this over. “I dunno. Maybe jump into a volcano or something.” 

Nathan closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out through his nose. “The most dangerous volcano in the United States is Kilauea, in Hawaii. It's also the most active volcano on Earth.” 

“I do not even want to know why you know that off the top of your head,” Domino remarked wryly. “But I'm guessing it probably has something to do with your messiah phase, your telepathy, and/or the Infonet.” 

“I'm going to Hawaii,” Nathan said, and left.

* * *

**_~One day later, Hawaii, Hawai'i (aka the “Big Island), Kilauea~_ **

* * *

The sky was dark and most of the tourists were gone when there was a strangled gasp as a body crawled up out of one of the rivers of lava flowing down from the volcano's central crater. 

[WeLl, tHaT dIdN'T wOrK. AT aLl. FUcK tHaT fUcKInG HuRTs. oW.] 

The body made a destroyed gurgling noise, orange-hot lava dripping off it and starting to cool and harden to gray when it hit the ground. 

For some reason the lava didn't seem to be hardening on the body, just dripping off like viscous water. Burnt black bones were visible, whitening and snaking over with veins and muscles. 

[MuSt be tHe CaNCeROuS hEaLInG FaCToR wOrKiNg its MagIc.] 

Somebody ran screaming. Actually, make that two somebody's. Three? Wade's hearing hadn't quite come back yet. His eyes hadn't come back at all.

[WoOps. LoOks liKe thEre weRe tOurists stIll.] 

“Nnnnggghhhkkkkkk,” Wade gasped and gargled as his epidermis started growing back. He managed to lift himself off his stomach onto his hands and knees, head bowed as he hacked up rock. 

_“Wade,”_ said a voice, and somebody—somebody _large_ —dropped down beside him. _“Dammit,_ Wade.” 

[NaTE!]

“Dnnnnnnntttttt tttttchhhhhhhhhh,” Wade managed through a half-formed jaw, holding up on hand only to collapse down onto his side, rolling onto his back and gasping as his vision started returning just enough for him to make out blurry, vague shapes. 

Nate's hands fluttered around him, but didn't touch. _“Dammit,_ Wade!” 

“Yyyyyyy ssssssssdddd thhhhhhttttttt,” Wade hissed out. He thought he could maybe feel the molten rock peeling off his skin. 

“You didn't... have to... _Wade..._ why...?” Nate's form was shaking. Was his voice really choked up, or was that just Wade's hearing? Maybe he still had lava in his ears. He should probably try to get the lava out. 

He found that he could kind of move his fingers. Kind of. Or at least, he was starting to feel them again. His tongue was getting better, too. “Nnnnnnnatttte?” 

“I'm _here,_ Wade. Dammit, you _scared_ me! What were you _thinking?!”_

“Wannntttted ttto,” Wade coughed, trying to sit up. “ggggo backkk tttto...” 

“To being _dead?!”_ And yeah, that could definitely be described as a _roar._ “Is that _really_ what you _want?!”_

“Heh,” Wade said, his vision clearing up enough that he could make out the angry features of Nate's face, rather than just the glow of his left eye. “Mmmmisss m-mme?” 

“You're an asshole,” Nate stated flatly. 

Wade half laughed, half choked, half coughed (yes, that's _three_ halves— _fuck_ math). “F-finally got a t-taste of your own m-medicine, huh N-n-nate?” 

Nate glared at him, left eye flashing. 

[You are _so_ not allowed to actually die. Just look at 'im! Are angry puppy dog eyes a thing? I think angry puppy dog eyes are now a thing.]

“Th-think m-maybe drowning w-would work,” Wade muttered, looking down and suddenly realizing that he was buck naked. And sitting on lava rocks. A few feet away from a river of orange lava. With Nate staring at him. And he was naked. And _Nate_ was there. He did mention those parts, right? “If I w-was w-weighed down w-with an anchor. M-maybe getting lost in outer sp-space without one of those n-nifty space suits?” 

Nate's glare turned murderous. 

[ABORT! RUN! Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide!] 

“You really think either of those would work?” Nate ground out. When Wade tried to look away, Nate grabbed his chin, forcing Wade to look at him. “You _jumped into a volcano_ and still came out alive. Maybe drowning or floating in space without a suit would kill you _temporarily,_ but somebody would _find_ you. Somebody would find you and _use_ you.” 

Wade swallowed. 

“You _know_ somebody would find you,” Nate hissed out, eyes blazing. “You _know_ they'd try to turn you into their _weapon_ and _use you._ And if your death managed to give you permanent brain damage?” 

[More so than we're already brain-damaged?] 

“They just might _succeed._ Do you _want_ that?!” 

“No,” Wade said weakly, gaze continually flicking away from the blue and yellow eyes boring into his own, only to flick back again as Nate increased the pressure on his chin. “I just want to _die.”_

_“Why?”_ Nathan pressed. 

[Aren't you glad we practised this?] 

“Shut up,” Wade hissed, gaze focusing on the distance over one of Nate's huge shoulders, as if he could glare his head-voice into submission. 

When he met Nate's gaze again, his voice trembled only slightly as he said, “Because I don't have anything to live for. Nate, _I don't have anything to live for.”_ The trembling of his tone got worse, and his vision started getting blurry again. “Nate, for the past _year_ the only thing getting me out of bed in the morning has been _killing._ And once I start, it's so hard to _stop,_ and sometimes I would be working for _weeks straight_ before I even fell asleep again! Because falling asleep means _waking up,_ and wake up means finding a reason to _get up,_ and that means realizing that the only thing I'm living for is _killing,_ which is a really, _really_ depressing realization, Nate!” 

Nate pulled back, eyes wide like he'd been punched in the face, and Wade brought his knees to his chest and curled up in a ball. 

“I fucking _missed you,_ Nate,” Wade breathed, blinking away the water in his eyes, and how the hell did he even have water in his body to waste on tears when he'd just been burnt alive in molten rock? “I never saw you except when they were calling you a terrorist on the TV, and I _missed you_ and just wanted you to _look at me_ like I _mattered.”_

Wade hadn't realized he'd been cold until something warm and heavy draped around him, and he raised his head to see that Nate had wrapped his jacket around him. 

He looked at Nate, questioning. 

Nate put a hand on Wade's face, rubbing the rough skin of his thumb over the mercenary's cheek, expression pained. “I'm _sorry,_ Wade. I know it's not enough, and it never will be and it can never make up for the way I... the way I've treated you. But I'm _sorry._ And I want to _fix this.”_

He looked like he really meant it, too. 

“Please, Wade,” Nate said softly, beseechingly. “Come with me.” 

[Damn. You really can't stay resentful of a face like that. Man, that scar over his right eye is really cute...] 

“You just _had_ to point that out, didn't you?” Wade sighed. “Now the word 'cute' is going to be going through my head every time I look at him!” 

Nate blinked, confused. “What?” 

“Um,” Wade said sheepishly, clutching the jacket tighter around him. “Okay, so, I was kinda lying in that coffin, awake and alive, for probably a few weeks, right?” 

Nate stared at him. 

“And it was boring and I didn't have anything to do but talk to myself, and so I basically talked to myself until I developed a second personality that talks back, inside my head,” Wade said, eying Nate warily. “So, if I was crazy _before,_ I'm even _crazier_ now.” 

Something like guilt passed over Nate's face. “So if you talk aloud to yourself and it doesn't make sense, I know what's going on,” he surmised after a moment. 

“Yeah, basically.” 

“Well. Thanks for letting me know.” 

“And the voice in my head pointed out that the scar over your right eye is really cute, and now I can't stop seeing how cute it is,” Wade added. 

Nate blinked at him again. “You know,” he said slowly, _“most people _think the scar is _menacing,_ not _cute.”___

__Wade snickered._ _

__[We're not most people.]_ _

__“Damn right,” Wade agreed._ _

__Nate glanced up at the lightening sky. “We should go,” he said, offering a hand to help Wade up._ _

__Wade thought about slapping the offered hand away for a moment, before realizing that he was naked and wearing Nate's jacket and he'd just tried to kill himself by jumping into a volcano and he had a voice in his head, so basically he really had no pride to speak of._ _

__So he took Nate's hand and let the larger man pull him to his feet._ _


	2. (Wish I Didn't) Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Essentially, Nate invites Wade to join his new X-Force team.

* * *

_**~An hour later, a room in a Hawaiian hotel~** _

* * *

“So, how did you know what I was going to do?” Wade asked as he pulled on the pair of clothes that Nathan had brought for him. 

“Domino figured out what you would do,” Nathan answered from where he was standing over by the curtained window. (The sunlight that fell over the left side of his face made his eye look blank and dead.) “I only figured out where you would go.” 

“And you brought a pair of clothes in exactly my size with you,” Wade noted, glancing in the mirror to see that, yes, the gray sweat pants and red t-shirt fit as well as they felt like they fit (he couldn't help but notice that the shirt was tight enough to show off his pecs and abs, while not being too tight as to cause discomfort). He muttered under his breath: “Shut up, it's not _that_ flattering that he knows our clothing size. He _is_ a pompous know-it-all, after all.” 

Raising his voice to a more audible level, he continued to Nathan: “You brought clothes for me with you in case I jumped into the volcano, and yet, you seemed so shocked and horrified when you found that I actually _had_ jumped into the volcano.”

“Hope for the best, prepare for the worst,” Nathan answered, turning to look at him. (The sunlight filtering through the curtain landed on the right side of his face, making his blue eye seem to glow as much as his left eye glowed in the shadows.)

Stepping out of the light so he could see better, Nathan's gaze traveled Wade up and down, taking him in, and Wade fidgeted but Nathan smiled. 

“I'm glad you're alive, Wade,” he said softly. 

Wade snorted. “You would be the only one.” Then, as an aside: “Shut up, Bob doesn't count! He's like an ignorant little puppy dog that gets scared of its own shadow.” 

Nathan still wasn't used to Wade talking to himself. It disturbed him, not because Wade talking to a voice inside his head was disturbing, but because it had been _him_ that had caused Wade to develop the split personality in the first place. 

Not only had he _hurt_ Wade (what Wade saying earlier about not having anything to live for except killing had made Nathan's heart feel like it was breaking), but he'd contributed to Wade's _insanity,_ as well. 

(For all that he was regarded as a Savior and a Messiah, Nathan was only actually good at _destroying_ things.)

“Yeowch, Priscilla, you've got that kicked puppy dog look,” Wade said, jerking Nathan out of his thoughts. 

Wade turned to glare at the mirror, seeming to be talking to himself again. “No, I don't know why I'm suddenly comparing everybody to puppy dogs! Puppy dogs are cute but easily killed, and it would be a very, _very_ bad idea for me to get a puppy dog. Besides, I don't need one, I have Bob, and he's already house-trained.” 

Nathan's lips quirked. Great Mother, he'd _missed_ Wade. 

Trying to push Wade away obviously hadn't worked (for either of them), so Nathan said, “I want you to join my new X-Force team, Wade.”

“You have a new X-Force team?” Wade asked, looking over at him curiously. “What happened to the old one?” 

“Cannonball, Boom-Boom, and Warpath returned to the X-Men,” Nathan said, not mentioning that their reason for leaving probably had something to do with chasing Deadpool around the world and fighting demons, and then what happened in New York. “Domino is still a member, though. I've also recently recruited Psylocke and Fantomex.” 

“Fantomex is a Weapon Plus experiment,” Wade said immediately. Probably because that was how Fantomex was sorted in his head. 

“So are you,” Nathan pointed out. “This is a _new_ X-Force team, and I want you on it.” (“I want you with me,” was left unsaid.) 

Brown eyes met blue and glowing-yellow. They stared at each other for several moments. 

Wade looked away first. “You know, it would be stupid for you to have me on your team because I just almost destroyed the world like a month ago and the entire world except for you probably hates me. Do you really want to deal with that?” 

“What choice do you have?” said Nathan softly. “You can't die, so you need something to live for. I'm offering you a chance. It's not going to be easy. But it will be worth it. Trust me.” 

Wade wouldn't look at him. “And what makes you think I'm worth the risk?” 

Nathan paused, wetting his lips to try to make it easier to talk. “You know, Wade...” he said, staring at the side of the mercenary's face, silently pleading for Wade to look at him. “I missed you, too.” 

_That_ made Wade look at him. (The blatant surprise on Wade's face made Nathan hate himself.)

“Seriously?” Wade said, and his voice squeaked. 

Nathan held his gaze, hoping Wade could see the earnestness there as he said, “Yes.” 

Wade stared at him for another few moments. 

_“Fuck!”_ Wade hissed suddenly, whirling around and punching the wall so hard Nathan could hear the bones of his hand break. (The image of Wade's ravaged body lurching out of the lava sprang up behind Nathan's eyes and made him shiver.) 

“Wade, _stop,”_ Nathan said, grabbing the mercenary's wrist before he could punch the wall again. _“Talk to me.”_

Wade watched his fingers realign with soft popping noises, his wrist still held in Nathan's large hand (and wow, Nate's wrist and hand made his own wrist and hand look _delicate_ ). “Dammit, I can't say No to him,” he muttered under his breath. “I don't _want_ to say No to him.” 

“Then don't,” Nathan said, and Wade laughed. 

“So. You want to use me, then? Think you can _control_ me?” 

“No, Wade,” Nathan said, trying to keep his voice steady, even. “I want you on my team because you're _good_ at what you do, and because I _trust_ you. Because there's _nobody else I would rather have by my side._ Because I keep... _ruining_ what we have, and I want to _fix_ it.” 

“What _do_ we have, Priscilla?” Wade asked, looking at him with empty eyes. 

Nathan hissed out a breath, letting go of Wade's wrist and brushing a hand back through his white hair. He looked pained. “I'd like to think we were friends.” 

Wade tilted his head. “Yeah,” he said quietly, “I guess we were.” He looked up at the ceiling. “This is _so_ weird. Are you _sure_ I'm not hallucinating again?” 

“You could punch me in the face and see whether that feels like a hallucination to you,” Nathan offered lightly, without thinking. 

Wade whipped his head back around to stare at him. 

For a moment, Nathan thought he'd said the wrong thing, but then Wade started _laughing._

( _Great Mother,_ Nathan had missed that sound.) 

Wade collapsed backwards onto one of the two queen-sized beds in the hotel room, clutching his stomach and kicking his feet in the air as he guffawed, which Nathan thought was a little dramatic, even for Wade. 

_“You,_ Nate...” Wade gasped out, as his legs relaxed down to hang over the edge of the bed, “are _precious.”_

“Please don't go all Gollum on me,” Nathan said dryly. 

Wade bolted upright to stare at him, mouth agape, before he collapsed back onto the bed laughing again. “Ermahgerd...! He knows _LotR...!”_

“Of course I know _Lord of the Rings,”_ Nathan said. “There was a time when I could hear the thoughts of _everyone in the world,_ remember? I was essentially reading billions of books and watching billions of movies and TV shows, among other things, _every day.”_

“And most of it is complete crap,” Wade said, his chuckles petering out. 

“Some people enjoy it.” 

“Their tastes are crap,” Wade huffed as he crossed his arms behind his head. “Beau Arthur is the best.” 

“Of course,” Nathan humored him. 

“So,” Wade said casually. “When do we leave?” 

“I have a flight booked for 06:00 tomorrow,” Nathan said, sitting down on the other bed and keeping his gaze on Wade, tracing over the surface-of-the-moon scarring of Wade's skin, noting the coiled tenseness behind Wade's seemingly relaxed muscles.

“You already bought my ticket, didn't you,” Wade said, more of a statement than a question as he turned his head to look at Nathan.

Nathan let a smug smile tug at his lips. “Yes.” 

Wade gave a small (relieved? grateful?) smile. “Cool,” he said, turning his gaze back to the ceiling. Yet he was still tense beneath the faux-relaxation. “Did you bring me a jacket?” 

“Wade, it's Hawaii,” Nathan pointed out lightly, knowing why Wade wanted a jacket, and wishing Wade didn't need to cover his skin (marred like a warrior, a survivor) in order to feel comfortable around people. (Though Nathan couldn't help but feeling somewhat... _flattered_ to know that Wade was comfortable in his own skin around _him._ ) “It's tropical.” 

“I still need a jacket,” Wade said flatly. 

Nathan pursed his lips. He hadn't brought a jacket for Wade (he'd been in a rush and had forgotten). “You can borrow mine again, then,” he offered, watching how the mercenary relaxed completely at his words. 

And for some reason, Wade giggled. 

Nathan couldn't help but to smile at him. 

Wade was with him again, and Nathan had so much hope for the future that, despite the two-hundred extra pounds of techno-organics he was always lugging around, he felt light.

* * *

**_~A few hours later, still the hotel room~_ **

* * *

It was midday, but they'd both been up all night, so they'd drawn the curtains and tried to fall asleep. 

Nate was asleep on the floor (apparently the bed was too soft). 

Wade, though, couldn't sleep. He couldn't get comfortable, and his eyes wouldn't close. 

Every time he tossed and turned, though, Nate would start shifting in his sleep, as if he was on the verge of waking up, so Wade tried to hold as still as possible. 

Scooting quietly to the edge of the bed, he lay on his side and watched Nate sleep. Which was probably kind of creepy, but he didn't particularly care. He had a creepy face. He could be creepy if he wanted to. And besides, Nate was old enough that he could deal with creepy, and Nate could be pretty creepy and watchful too, so, whatever. 

Wade was watching Nate sleep. 

Nate was always somehow both old and ageless, but he looked younger, when he slept. When he was awake, he looked anywhere between forty and seventy, but asleep, with his face relaxed and the frown and worry creases smoothed out, he looked to be more somewhere between thirty and fifty. 

His breathing was slow and even, and it was so quiet that Wade thought he could hear Nate's near-silent breaths, and the almost metallic-sounding beating of the man's heart. 

Could have been his imagination, though. Wade a vivid imagination. 

Still, whether it was his imagination or not, Wade found it... _comforting,_ to lie there watching and listening to Nate sleep. 

Wade found himself staring at every line of Nate's face, the way his white hair fell back away from his chiseled face when he was lying down, the way his left eye still glowed slightly through his eyelid, the way he slept with his lips closed, breathing only through his nose. 

Wade found himself staring at those lips, tracing their outline, wondering what they'd feel like against his own. 

Gawd, Nate looked so kissable, sleeping peacefully like that. 

[You are _so_ head-over-heels _in love_ and it's absolutely _disgusting._ ] 

“Shush, you.” 

But that wasn't what their relationship was like—and that was okay. Nate was handsome and rugged and Wade bet that sex with him would be amazing, but that would never happen, and Wade didn't need it. 

Really, it was enough to just be _around_ Nate. It was... 

Perfect. This was perfect. _Nate_ was perfect. 

This was Nate, trusting Wade enough to sleep in the same room as him, even though Wade had just recently tried to destroy the world. 

This was Nate, who was so damn responsible and selfless and always wanted to save the world, and he was offering Wade another chance. 

Nate must have offered Wade over seven chances by now, and Wade fucked up every. single. time. 

And yet Nate was _still_ offering him this chance. 

[You know it's not going to be easy. The entire world hates you now.] 

“Except Nate,” Wade said breathed, hardly a sound passing over his lips. 

He didn't want to wake Nate. 

[Except Nate, true. But Nate is _one guy,_ and the world is _the world._ Everybody and everything else. All betting against you.] 

“It doesn't matter,” Wade murmured, staring at the sleeping man on the floor. “It doesn't matter that the entire world is against me.”

[And what makes you figure that?] 

The carpeting Nate was lying on was blue, but not as blue as his right eye, when it was open. The blue of his eye would make the carpeting look gray.

His eyes were closed right now, though, and the blue of the carpet made Nate's hair look so very, very white. 

And Nate was so _huge,_ too. Almost seven feet tall, and three-hundred-fifty pounds of muscle and metal. And yet, along with all the brawn, Nate had a good amount of brains, too. Even if he could be a real jerk and an idiot sometimes, he was also kind of a genius, when it came to tactical planning and badass things like that. 

Nate was a _warrior_ and a _leader,_ and he always had so much _hope,_ and he was pretty much superman without a kryptonite agita, so it was almost odd to see him sleeping just like any other person. 

Well, except that most people probably didn't sleep on the floor, still wearing their clothes and even shoes, body completely still and breaths completely silent, sleeping so lightly they would wake up at the smallest noise, immediately one-hundred-percent awake and ready to kick ass. 

Wade smiled softly. “It doesn't matter that the entire world is against me, because I have Nate. And Nate is enough.”

The voice in his head didn't seem to have any argument to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of this story, but there are more stories in this arc to come :)
> 
> In the next one, Wade and Nate _finally_ figure out that they both love each other, and that it's not unrequited. Ugh, the idiots!! 
> 
> Thoughts on this? Because I dunno, I feel like my writing got a bit too cute and fluffy... I swear, it feels like my only writing modes are angst, humor, and fluff, lol.

**Author's Note:**

> TBC.


End file.
